


Tilted Vessel

by Grenegome



Series: The Ways Lie Straight [2]
Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: M/M, Party, Politics, Winter Bike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-25
Updated: 2011-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grenegome/pseuds/Grenegome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After bidding Vadderung goodbye, Harry has a party to attend. Marcone is not entirely a gentleman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tilted Vessel

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Dresden Files Kink Meme.

I knew how I looked as I trod the paths through Undertown; a smug grin kept sliding across my face, my hair had been styled by a hurricane, and my clothes had seen the floor more recently than an iron. In case there was any doubt I’d just rolled out of bed after a good time, my aura was smudged with Vadderung’s power, like lipstick on a shirt collar.

I was in a good mood.

The light from the pentacle on my chest blazed out brightly, and I was reigning in the urge to hum, or whistle; mortal music drew the Fae, and I’d have enough faerie company for the rest of the evening to want these brief moments for myself.

But I wasn’t alone for long. Just ahead of me I could make out hovering flickers of blue fire guiding three silhouettes through dark and winding passages. One mountain of a man, broad and heavy set, a tall, well built woman, and a third I recognised from the way he carried himself, stride measured and confident. They weren’t a trio I fancied sneaking up on, so I put my fingers to my lips and whistled sharply. They paused, and the figures of Gard and Hendricks moved back towards me as the light above them strengthened, casting away the darkness between us, illuminating me in all my dishevelled glory.

My grin widened, “Evening,” I waved cheerfully. “Nice suit, Marcone.” Only the Baron of Chicago could wander an underground tunnel in a tux and keep it spotless. “You decide to skip the guide?”

Marcone took me in slowly, gaze flickering up and down my form before he inclined his head to me, curt and formal. “Dresden. We decided on another entrance.”

It was smart of him really; Maeve’s guests had been promised a guide under the Accords from a designated entrance to Undertown, but one point of entry meant all kinds of conflicting powers converging on a single gateway, and there was no obligation for peaceful conduct between them until they passed through it. Those kind of odds weren’t Marcone’s style; it made sense that the lights flickering around his party weren’t Winter’s, instead they resonated with the same kind of power I’d felt around Vadderung. Gard made a better guide than some flighty faerie-- select members of the Za Lord’s guard excluded-- and I opened my mouth to say as much, turning to address her, before realizing Gard was staring at me with something other than professional wariness; she was projecting intense curiosity, with a subtle hint of amusement. Caught unawares, my compliment morphed into a conspiratorial grin, and I just about resisted the urge to wink at her.

Marcone’s head tilted slightly, tracking my unexplained amusement as if it was an item of interest. “You’re in a better mood than usual, Knight Dresden.”

“I’m having a good day. It happens occasionally.” I stepped forward until I was still a civil distance from Gard and Hendricks. They weren’t expecting hostilities from me, but we weren’t yet under truce, so they both looked ready to act. I grinned at them, hands up and palms out in a traditionally peaceful gesture that wasn’t actually very reassuring from someone of my powers. I bobbed my head, as close as I cared to get to a bow. “I offer safe passage to the court of the Winter Lady, Baron. In accordance with your guestright.”

Marcone gave me a smile, but it was a business one, nothing real. “Offer accepted, Knight.”

“Cool.” I slipped between Hendricks and Gard, moved past Marcone and strode into the darkness. There were dangers in Undertown, but none of them stupid enough to mess with me.

 

A couple of minutes later, Gard caught up with me and matched my stride. “Well,” she said, amusement deep and rich in her voice. “You’ve been busy.”

I beamed at her. If I had the time, I’d have stopped to try and bottle some of the self-satisfaction pouring off me. I didn’t know what potion I could work it into, but it’d be a doozy. Gard gave me a once over of her own, and I knew she was looking for things Marcone didn’t have the eyes to see. I didn’t volunteer a rendition of _Dear Penthouse_ , so she kept going. “It’s been a long time since he’s taken up with a mortal.”

That gave me pause. My internship with Winter had given me certain insights into exchanges of power and favor among the high rollers, and I’d sort of assumed...

“Marcone never… ?”

That struck a spark of amusement in her eyes. “Not my place to comment, Dresden.”

“Oh, come on,” I wheedled. “I’ll give you details. Tit for tat?”

Gard considered me for a moment and then turned her head away on the pretence of checking our surroundings. I’m pretty sure she was actually disguising the grin on her face. “He hasn’t,” she said. “Now, details.”

“I broke into your boss’s office, straight from Faerie.”

“There’s no open Way from-- ”

“Yeah. Accident?”

Gard’s amusement was audible then, and she had a strong laugh, the werelights danced with it. “Of course it was, Dresden. Go on.”

“So, Vadderung is a hospitable guy. Instead of chucking me out on my ass, he asked if I wanted to go in for a little pillaging. I did, so we took it to the bedroom, and I showed him a good time.” Which glossed over a hell of a lot of what had passed between us, but this wasn’t the kind of thing I was used to putting into words.

As it happens, Gard is a perceptive lady. “A little more than a fuck though, for his power to be so heavy on you.”

I knew full well Vadderung wouldn’t mind me sharing the dirty details. Hell, he’d positively encourage it, but I lowered my voice anyway, because it was more fun to spread this kind of thing with a whisper. “I took my power to him. I drank in his.”

Gard caught her breath. “Dresden. You’ve no patience for a peaceful life.”

I shrugged off her words easily. “I’m not going to get one. Might as well take my fun where I can find it.”

She nodded. “True enough. Though I wouldn’t call antagonising your Queen ‘fun’.” Gard knew what it meant to be beholden to a power, to serve. But as far as I could tell, she believed in her service. The strength that ruled over her was a strength she respected, and that respect had roots in something more substantial than fear. I couldn’t say the same thing, and even as the sworn Knight of Winter’s power, I didn’t have it in me to blindly follow that power out of fear alone.

Anyway, this wasn’t Mab’s shindig. If I’d rolled up to _her_ court with marks of the Aesir all over me, I’d probably have been in for a frosty reception. But Maeve? She’d just laugh herself silly, maybe request a reenactment with a nearby sidhe lord, if I was in a cooperative mood. It’d get back to Mab eventually, I knew it would, but it wasn’t news to her that my loyalty was something she had bought and bound, not won. I shrugged again. “She’ll get over it.”  
Gard shook her head.

 

By the time we got there, Maeve had apparently laughed herself silly already. I stepped through the doorway ahead of Marcone’s entourage and then plowed to a halt, staring blankly at the throne on the dias against the far wall; Maeve sprawled across her throne, both legs hooked over one of its arms, leaning precariously back against the other. Her short skirt was sliding up around her thighs, which I didn’t find nearly as distracting as I once would. I was more distracted by the fact she was singing. Loud, off-key, drunk off her ass singing. And we were early, the party hadn’t even started yet.

I turned back to Marcone with a blank expression on my face. “Uh. The Winter Lady welcomes you to her court. ...I think. Just wait here a minute.”

I jogged across the empty dancefloor, taking note of the handful of guests who had also chosen to arrive early. They were mostly Maeve’s current favourites, and they were looking a bit merry too, huddling together in little groups, holding onto one another for support, mostly seeming to be involved in intense, meaningful discussion. I was vaguely freaked out; this was the court of wild debauchery, not fascinating rhetoric.

I reached the dais, bobbed down on one knee for all of a fraction of a second, and then sprang back up to stand at the side of Maeve’s throne, looking down at her smiling upturned face. “What the fuck, my lady?”

Maeve broke off her song, and blinked up at me with a slow smile. “Harry,” she said, delight thick in her words. “You’ve picked up a _patron_. Aren’t you a clever Knight?”

“I can tie my own breeches and everything,” I said, and held a hand out over her, senses extended. Whatever influence might be exerting itself was eclipsed by the sharp ozone tang of Winter’s power, calling to the Mantle that bound me. “What the hell does a Faerie Queen have to drink to get wasted? Turbo-Absinthe?”

“A token of appreciation,” she murmured, one hand trailing down to the floor beside her throne before holding a horn out to me. By rights, it should have been empty after being wrong side up on the floor. Instead, it was brimful of golden liquid. “Try a little, Knight.” I accepted the horn but didn’t drink, sniffing it instead. It felt like I’d been punched in the face by a fist full of honey.

Mead.

Right.

Add that together with the suddenly garrulous court, and there was one obvious conclusion. I had no idea if I was obliged to do anything about it. Maeve chose that moment to launch into something resembling a dirty medieval sea shanty. Normally I wouldn’t _care_ if she started caterwauling about people doing unnecessarily explicit things with dolphins, but I kind of needed her _compos mentis_ tonight. “Hey, don’t you have to keep it together until the end of the party? I thought there was some ritual mumbo jumbo for the Dissolution.”

Maeve broke off mid chorus with a sigh. “So dutiful, Harry. Has my mother set you to watch over me again?”

“Nope,” I said. “Personal investment.” I was kind of keen on the Dissolution, as it meant a bit of added security for Chicago. Granted, the primary gateway to Mab’s court would simply gain an affinity for another mortal city, but Chicago has its fair share of shit without any added Winter shenanigans.

“Then you may relax, Knight. I can shift this gateway with a passing thought.” Maeve swung her legs down off the arm of the chair and reached up, taking a strong grip on the back of my neck. “Now, greet me properly, and then see that my guests drink of this most generous gift.” I ducked down to kiss her, licking the taste of honey from her mouth. “Mmm, I can taste him on you,” Maeve laughed, pulling away. Her hand moved down from my neck to land a swift pat on my ass. “Go, bid all be merry.”

“Merry,” I said. “Gotcha.”

Marcone aside, there weren’t many non-Winter guests present yet for me to make merry with, and I had more than a couple of questions for Gard, so I made my way straight back to them. I’d thought Marcone had his business face on before, but this time when I met his eyes it was like trying to commune with a scummy lake; I got mucky green and nothing else, no hint of what was going on inside his head, except that he seemed intent on giving me his full attention. In silence. Whatever. If this was some bizarre power play, I couldn’t be bothered.

I turned to Gard and brandished the horn at her. “Is this what I think it is?” The mead slopped over the sides and ran across my fingers, but when I peeped inside, the horn was still full.

Gard’s eyes widened in evident surprise. “Generous,” she murmured.

“It’s the Mead of freaking Suttungr,” I said. “He gives that out on a whim?”

“Who might we be speaking of?” Marcone said, in a level tone. I liked his emphasis on _we_. Such a small syllable to convey _I will not tolerate discussions taking place over my head_.

“Your backer,” I explained. “Hey, do you want some? If you don’t, just pretend, I’m chief wassailer for the evening.”

Marcone took it from my outstretched hand and then turned to Gard. “I was not briefed on this,” he said, very quietly.

“No,” she said. “But we’re well within the terms of your contract. This is a very recent development, and it poses no threat to you.”

“Nevertheless.”

“I... haven’t been briefed either,” Gard admitted, “but if I were to hazard a guess, then I’d say it was a token of appreciation.”

“For?” Marcone prompted calmly. Gard took a slow breath, threw a layered look at Hendricks that I totally failed to decode, and then said, “Dresden’s favor.”

I laughed. I hadn’t been expecting _favor_ ; Gard had been a bit less genteel about the whole thing earlier. Maybe she was playing into John’s Gentleman act.

“I fail to see the comedy in this situation, Dresden.”

“Oh, come on. I reserve the right to laugh if I fuck a guy and he responds by getting my employer high on mythical mead. At the very least, this is going to be a decent party.” I looked down at the horn in Marcone’s hand, and was surprised to see how tightly he was holding it. His knuckles were turning white.

“I wasn’t aware you’d maintained your acquaintance with Donar Vadderung,” he said, voice totally devoid of any emotion.

“No, you weren’t.” I said. “So?”

Marcone didn’t answer me. Instead he mimed a sip from the horn, tipping it back convincingly, before returning it to me. “Enjoy your evening, Knight.”

I got the guests all wassailed up. And then I got the enchanted mortal band (de rigeur for any of Maeve’s parties) all wassailed up too, because Maeve hadn’t told me not to. Entertaining the Fae was more than any mortal musician could hope to achieve without sacrificing life or sanity-- unless of course you had a little divine inspiration to shield you from the effects of the evening. Sure, it was meant for poetry, not music, but Maeve had already illustrated that there was enough resonance between the two for the mead to be a godsend. Hah. I didn’t know the appropriate forms of any prayers to Odin, but I mumbled a quiet thank you as I tipped the horn to the mouth of every player.

By the time the music kicked in I’d returned the horn to Maeve’s eager hands and accepted my first dance partner for the evening; an unfamiliar sidhe lord with glamour green eyes. We kept stopping every now and then for a cheerful struggle over who was leading and what dance we were actually aiming for.

Eventually, he let me strong arm him into a waltz, smiling his amusement and following my lead. “So, how was the Old Wolf?” he asked. “Rumor has it he stirs from his den once more.”  
I wracked my brain for the sidhe lord’s name. Considering I’d run my hands across his shoulders and up across his tunic before we’d made it onto the floor, and that one of his hands was currently on my ass, I really should be able to recall it. Something with a V. Valor? Valish? Valance!

“Well, he stirs pretty vigorously _in_ his den,” I confided with a grin. Valance’s amusement bloomed in his eyes, and he asked the question I was expecting. “Would you take another to your bed today, Knight?”

Usually, yes, but I was kind of keen on making sure that this Dissolution thing came off properly, and that all the mortals in the room got home safely. Marcone would probably help with the musicians, but he’d have to do so subtly, image conscious neurotic that he was. It’d be a bad idea just to dump them in his lap. “Look me up another time,” I said. “I’ve got duties.”

“I will,” Valance promised, hand sliding up to the small of my back and then down again, fingers dipping down past the waistband of my trousers. Just as he did, the Waltz came to a halt and I bowed my way off the dance floor. No point in getting carried away with myself after all. Maybe it was best to find a dance partner with a stronger work ethic.

I spotted Marcone making small talk with a centaur and heroically ignoring the somewhat perverted ice sculpture that towered over them both. Hendricks and Gard stood a few paces back, observing Marcone’s discussion and the immediate environs with steady attentiveness. Disregarding Marcone, who had his back to me, I drifted over to the Valkyrie. “Gard,” I grinned, “do you dance?”

“Not on duty,” she said, failing to hide her amusement.

“Pity,” and hey, Hendricks was glowering at me. “What about you, big guy? Know your way around a-- ”

Marcone spun around and dropped a hand on my waist with deceptive lightness. I could feel the strength of his body close to mine. “I do, Mr Dresden,” he said coldly.

“Uh huh,” I said, looking down at him. I was starting to read that tight lack of expression as anger, and I was having trouble working out what had triggered it. “You don’t look like you want t-- ”

Marcone pushed me back onto the dancefloor, and he wasn’t exactly gentle about it. And he was leading. “Ok, maybe you do. Compensating for something tonight?” His grip tightened on my hand. “Seriously Marcone. You’ve got maybe another half hour of me finding this amusing, and then you have trouble. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

Marcone didn’t answer, just led me through the steps with grim determination. “No fun at all,” I complained. “Have a drink, loosen up.”

“You’re loose enough for the both of us,” he snapped, and I jerked to a halt, bringing us to a standstill in the middle of the dancefloor. I knocked Marcone’s hand off my waist and broke his grip on my hand, and looked down at him coldly.

Small minded, inconsiderate, down right _rude_ son of a bitch. “I knew _Gentleman_ was a crappy title,” I spat, and Marcone’s face went blank again abruptly.

“I misspoke,” he said. It wasn’t an apology.

I leaned in to his personal space. “I was actually having fun for a change, you dick. Maybe you should give it a try. Don’t you see Vadderung, every now and again?” I was taunting him, yeah, and maybe it was juvenile, but he was the one that needed to grow up if he was having a bigoted snit about my sexual proclivities. “He might not want you in his bed, but I bet he’d at least bend you over his desk.”

Words guaranteed to provoke any homophobic mafia dick to violence, even if that dick was John Marcone. He did coil up, the prelude to a blow, but suddenly Hendricks and Gard were there, Hendricks’ hand subtly present in a death grip on Marcone’s elbow, and Gard jerking me sideways in what turned out to be a dance step.

“Save that discussion for a better venue,” she said.

“He’s being a bitch,” I replied. Gard made a noncommittal noise, which I was choosing to interpret as, _yes, he totally is_. “Going to tell me why?”

“Now that definitely isn’t my place,” she said, and then waited for a few bars of music. “Try Hendricks.”

Twenty minutes later, when Marcone was distracted by a light show being played out by a few of Winter’s Little People, I did. “So?” I murmured, at Hendricks’ side. He gave me a dumb look. “Oh, come on. Why’s he so pissy?”

Hendricks just grunted at me, but I didn’t give in. I stood there and eyed him, watching the play of colored lights across his thuggish features. Eventually, he relented and spoke. “Ask him yourself.”

“I tried, and then I kinda wanted to punch him in the face. Come on Hendricks, in the interests of keeping the peace?” Hendricks just shook his head, and I gave it up as a bad job. Fuck it. I could enjoy this party regardless of what Marcone thought of me, and if he didn’t like what he saw, he’d just have to learn to stop looking.

Eventually, the words were said, and the court dissolved. The gateway to Maeve’s court sealed behind us with thunderous finality as we stepped out into Undertown, and I wondered where it’d take up residence next. It might be nice to see more of Europe, maybe.

I led the mortals out through the underground passages, trusting the non-mortal parties to their faerie guides. I was at the head of a confused, staggering band of mortal musicians who didn’t understand who I was, where they were, or why I insisted everyone hold hands. Marcone was bringing up the rear, so I was pretty confident I wasn’t going to lose anyone. Still, you can never be too careful.

By the time we’d chivvied everyone out into the dawning light of Chicago and bundled them all into potentially mob affiliated taxis, the length of my day was catching up with me and I slumped against the wall yawning. Marcone caught my eye.

“Congratulations,” I said sleepily. “Winter’s clear of Chicago.”

“Not entirely,” Marcone said, looking me up and down.

I tilted my head back, resting it against the brickwork, not even bothering to face off with him. “Is that it? Are you pissed because I’m Winter’s?”

“You’re anyone’s that wants you,” Marcone said. I blinked at him, checked that yes, the gateway to Undertown was closed and my vow of safe conduct discharged, and then punched him in the jaw.

Marcone reeled back a step, surprise flaring in his eyes as Hendricks apparated out nowhere to steady him. Oddly, Marcone’s pet goon didn’t leap forward to break my neck, and there were no airborne knives for me to duck. “Not quite true,” I said sweetly, because certain things needed clarifying. “I’m anyone’s _I_ want, plus Mab’s, because she bound me. For now. I suggest _you_ stay the hell out of my way until you find your manners, Marcone.”

And then I ripped a hole in the air and took a short cut back to Murphy’s place. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t mind me crashing on her sofa.


End file.
